


Those Conversations, Those Revelations

by woodworms_before_breakfast



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arthur is a little gay?, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Canon Era, Emotional Hurt, Episode: s01e01 Dragon's Call, Episode: s01e04 The Poisoned Chalice, Episode: s01e06 A Remedy to Cure All Ills, Episode: s01e08 The Beginning of the End, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Good Morgana (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, POV Morgana (Merlin), Sorry Not Sorry, That I am sorry for, idk that's not the main part of the story though, oop I forgot also, sort of? not much angst really, this was just an innocent headcanon, to make myself and hopefully you guys happy, wholesome stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodworms_before_breakfast/pseuds/woodworms_before_breakfast
Summary: Morgana was just trying to lead the normal life of a King's ward. She didn't ask for the voice in her head. She didn't ask for the many consequences the voice would bring with him. And she certainly didn't ask for the voice to be attached to a certain raven-haired destiny of hers...
Relationships: Gwen & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Morgana (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 176





	1. Morgana Pokes Some Bread

**Author's Note:**

> A Merlin headcanon turned into a fanfic? And I'm not even a good fanfic writer - or a good writer in general, actually - but here I am!
> 
> So in this canon-era AU, when telepathy happens, the listeners can't hear the voices clearly, so they can't really tell who it is, and if they meet the person in real life, they probably can't recognize that person as the voice. Just makes the writing easier :)

Morgana first heard his voice while eating lunch.

_Almost there!_

She nearly fell off her chair, and Gwen, concern etched into her kind face, scurried over to help her stable herself. “Morgana? Are you alright?”

Morgana brushed her hair behind her ear. “Yes, erm…” She glanced at her plate. A half-eaten drumstick, a slice of bread, a pair of sausages. Had it been the bread? She poked at it, hoping — or dreading — that the voice might return. It wasn’t until she looked up to see Gwen’s furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips that she realized she’d been poking at bread.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m fine. You were saying?”

“Right.” Gwen’s confusion faded as she continued her rambling. “I told Mary, all you need is some soap and water, just get the stain right out of the shirt! And she said, it isn’t the _wine_ , it’s the _principle_ of the thing. You know, I do believe I could’ve strangled her right then, if she _still_ couldn’t see he was flirting—"

_I wonder how Mother is_.

Morgana startled again, but this time, she’d already been slouched in her chair, so the tremble went unnoticed. Gwen rattled on about oblivious kitchen maids and cheeky stablehands.

Who was this voice? She rolled her tongue between her teeth contemplatively and nearly bit into it when: _Hello?_

Swiveling her head around to survey the room, she quickly stuffed a piece of bread in her mouth to keep herself from yelping — that is, unless the bread itself was the speaker. What was happening?

_I don’t know! Do_ you _know what’s happening?_

Was the voice talking to _her_?

_Yes, of course I’m talking to you! Who else would I be asking?_

Oh, gods. She was insane. That “mental affliction” that Uther so loved assigning to others — she had it. She heard voices. She was going mad.

_Oi, if you’re mad, what am I? And I’m not bread, by the way!_

The mocking tone temporarily distracted her from her jarring plight, and for the first time, she paid attention to the actual voice itself. It was a young man’s voice… she thought; the way it echoed in her mind, she couldn’t place the sound of the voice accurately, although the words themselves were clear and precise. From what she could tell, it was warm and pure, but what was it doing in her head?

_What do you mean I’m in your head? I’m right here in Came— Oh. It’s… beautiful._

Camelot! Whatever this was — actually, _whoever_ this was, apparently — he was in Camelot. Perhaps she could tell who it was by their face! She prided herself on her ability to read expressions like a fortune teller’s crystals… not that such crystals or practices were allowed in Uther’s godforsaken kingdom.

Ignoring Gwen’s surprised exclamation, she raced over to the window, peered into the square below, and forgot everything about the voice. Right. The execution was today.

Every shred of curiosity — and, admittedly, excitement — dissolved from her body the moment she laid eyes on the scene below. Crowds were gathering around the execution platform, chattering with anticipation and restlessness. There was an old woman, a ghastly looking old woman, who stood among the people. No one seemed to spare her so much as a glance. Morgana frowned and lifted her eyes to see Uther standing on the balcony facing the square, brutal indifference carved into his firm jaw.

“…a lesson to all,” he was declaring, all the righteousness of a false king powered into his cowardly words. Morgana quickly erased such treasonous thoughts from her mind. Mustn’t go too far.

“This man, Thomas James Collins, is adjudged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic. And, pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned on penalty of death. I pride myself as a fair and just king…”

Morgana scoffed and turned her eyes from the balcony that attracted all of her resentment and bitterness like vultures to a carcass. Instead, she perused the crowds for a sign, a face that could be the source of the voice in her head.

Distracted by her thoughts, she barely had time to turn away when Uther dropped his hand and Thomas Collins was beheaded. The gasps of the crowd were both horrible and heart wrenching. Oh gods.

_Oh gods._

_You’re copying me!_

_I am not! That was a genuine reaction to a genuinely terrible—_

_Stop doing that!_

_Doing what?_

_Stop… talking to me! In my head!_

_What? Hold on, you’re the one talking to_ me _in_ my _head!_

_Who_ are _you?_

_A perfectly sane person who has no need of voices or conscientious crickets, thank you very much!_

She rolled her eyes. Even in the midst of a psychological crisis, she could appreciate a good-natured joke. Jokes.

Arthur.

Morgana hated to admit it, but next to Gwen — who, despite all her virtues and kindness, was a servant, and therefore not entirely privy to the mental problems of the King’s ward — Arthur was the one she could always turn to when she felt troubled.

“Morgana? Please, is something wrong?”

Gwen’s voice muddled into clarity as her thoughts wrapped themselves up.

“Yes, of course.” She smiled. “I must see to something. Please,” she added almost frantically, seeing Gwen stand up, no doubt to follow like the loyal friend she was. “There’s no hurry, finish your lunch.”

Gwen smiled, her eyes still frowning. “Thank you, my lady.”

Her march to Arthur’s chambers felt like a thundering frenzy of trepidation, a storm that didn’t allow itself to erupt until she arrived like a tempest at the oak doors. She knocked urgently.

“Enter.”

It was little surprise when she entered to see Arthur staring into the fireplace. He was often found in this tense position during executions.

“Morgana. What is it?” His voice was kind, but his brows were tightly knitted.

“You… didn’t watch the…” Her voice trailed off.

He rubbed his temple. “I… had other matters to attend to.”

She smiled. Unlike his father, Arthur wasn’t a cold, heartless tyrant. He tolerated executions almost as little as she did. “Arthur, I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, Morgana, I came to that conclusion when you entered my chambers a minute ago.”

She swallowed a retort. Pressing matters were at hand. “I… I was dining with Gwen, and… I have this tiny… Well, in my head, it was definitely in my head, but I could hear— He sounded like an echo, but his words were definitely clear—“ She stopped. Gods, she hadn’t meant to ramble.

“You’re trying to tell me,” he said, turning away from the fireplace with the beginnings of a smirk on the corner of his mouth, “that you’re hearing voices?”

“So you’re not as stupid as you look,” she shot back.

His grin was insufferable, but only for a moment, as it faded into worry. He could see her sincerity. “Morgana… are you alright?”

“I— I’m not sure. I just...”

It struck her then. She didn’t know how it felt for an axe to fall on your head, but the intensity of this realization barreled into her nearly as violently. She could tell Arthur nothing. Because what she wanted to tell him was… what? She was hearing voices? Even if Arthur understood and tried to help, Uther never would. The next dawn she saw would be her last.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Was she to keep this a secret forever? Could she ever go to anyone for comfort, for advice? She looked up into the pieces of sky on Arthur's face, nearly forming triangles as he scrutinized her silence. No, now wasn't the time to ponder on this.

“Morgana—“

She was in the corridor before he could ask what the matter was. Before he could sentence her to death by his father’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone who can spot the Ratatouille reference is automatically one of my favorite people ;)


	2. Arthur Gets Flowers For His Crush

Of all the people Morgana would have thought could become her friend, a _servant boy_ had never been one. Much less _Arthur’s_ manservant.

Yet Merlin was intriguing. He was easy on the eyes, too. That wasn’t important, of course. As she’d told Gwen, it wasn’t like she went to bed thinking of his long black lashes or sharp cheeks or ocean-blue eyes or full pink lips or—

“That was specific,” Gwen had observed unabashedly. “And I now think that’s exactly what you do, Morgana.”

In all seriousness, though, Morgana truly felt that her heart belonged to another. One without a face. One who’d quite literally consumed nearly her every waking and dreaming thought for the past week or so. One who brought her pleasant conversation when Uther’s hard glares drove her mad, amusing mockery when Arthur acted intolerably, warm comfort when Gwen didn’t arrive in time to soothe her from her nightmares. It had almost torn her apart with anxiety when she didn’t hear him for the better part of a day. It had almost crumbled her with ecstasy when he’d finally spoken.

_Sorry! I’m learning to... control my thoughts a bit. It’s not that I don’t trust you! If anyone else listened in, though..._

_Of course. I understand._ She’d gnawed away her bitter thoughts to see his reasoning. It was smart; she should do the same.

And as for the trust part... could he honestly say he trusted her? They hadn’t exchanged names, no hints at all to their identities — it was safer this way, so long as that damned crown lied on Uther’s enormous balding head. Speaking of, that crown was glistening particularly menacingly this night as he ordered Merlin to test the wine from the chalice with his own mouth. Merlin — kind, selfless, warm, idiotic, _brave_ (because despite Arthur's constant jokes about cowardice, even he knew Merlin had more courage than most of his knights) — had clambered into the hall, yelling about poison and treason.

“But if it’s poison, he’ll die!” Obvious statement of the year. “Then we’ll know he was telling the truth.” Arsehole statement of the year.

Morgana felt the same rush of panic as everyone else when Merlin collapsed to the floor after a violent bout of choked gasps. But when she stumbled backward into her chair, hand shooting to grasp the arm rest for balance, it wasn’t for the same reason that Arthur, Gwen and Gaius flung themselves to the floor by Merlin’s side.

It was the strangled gasp that erupted in her mind, echoing in her ears and her ears alone.

It was the realization that the same boy — no, _man_ , despite what everyone else saw — who’d caught her eye for the past week was the same voice that spoke welcome whispers in her mind.

It was the idea that _Mer_ lin—

—was dying. Oh gods, what was she thinking? How long had she been crumpled in her chair, a useless mound of frivolous worry? They had arrested Bayard’s men, Merlin and the three supporting him had vanished, and hissed conversation had bubbled in the banquet hall as servants and maids arrived to clear the tables. It was the murmuring of insignificant witnesses to a major drama, the pestering rain after a great clap of thunder. Morgana hated the rain.

She practically sprinted toward Arthur’s chambers before she noticed how inelegant she looked. Inelegant meant suspicious for a lady of the court. She slowed her steps and strolled leisurely into Arthur’s doorstep, almost breaking into a smile when she saw Arthur throw his face into his chest and lean his arms on the fireplace. Whenever he did this, he was in a vulnerable position, usually angry with Uther and easy — _easier_ — for Morgana to manipulate.

She didn’t even hear all of the words that flowed between her lips, dreamily allowing her fear and urgency to drive her speech. “— or one who does what his father tells him to?”

Arthur eyed her doubtfully. Doubt faded into resolve. Success. Another victory for the mind-bending queen that was Morgana Pendragon.

***

What did she care how Arthur had achieved it? The only thing capturing her attention was the raven-haired man draped over Gaius’ work bench, pale and sweaty but breathing, _breathing_. Thank the gods.

_Thank them for what?_

She almost knocked over the physician’s vials and was glad Gaius’ body blocked her from Merlin’s line of sight. Damn, she’d forgotten to restrict her mind once more after Merlin woke up. Thinking freely was a luxury she could no longer afford.

_Oh... nothing_.

Right, she hadn’t heard from him for a few days. The voice — Merlin’s voice — had manifested itself into a physical, tangible person, and her concern over Merlin’s status had overridden any thoughts of mental conversations. With a surge of excitement, she realized this could be her opportunity to break the barrier of anonymity between her and Mind Merlin. If only she could get him to trust her and glean the truth himself.

_So, where have you been?_ she inquired innocently.

_Well... erm... it’s like I said. I— I was busy, and since I’ve gotten better at controlling my thoughts, I guess I haven’t really... said anything to you yet._

She winced. That last part hurt.

_I’m— I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend—_

_You didn’t_ , she replied curtly. As Gwen and Gaius chattered away, fussing over Merlin, she slipped quietly from the room. As she left, she allowed herself a lingering gaze; he was frowning, his brows pinched together with confusion and hurt. They didn’t speak until she reached her chambers and thought, _Good night._

A pause. His voice pattered in with the timidity of a fox in the woods.

_I do like talking to you. I’ve never felt a connection like this with… anyone_.

She sat up on her bed. How could she let this moment pass?

_I feel the same._

_Really?_

She almost laughed out loud at the boyish thrill in his voice.

_Yes. I’ve always been quite... outspoken. But even when I speak my mind, it’s never with quite as much freedom as I would like. Maybe it’s that you can hear my thoughts directly, maybe it’s how you seem to understand me, or perhaps it’s your, ah, unique sense of humor, but—_

He laughed. Damn, his laugh was gorgeous. The words struck her as they had the past two nights, before she could bar them from her mind.

_I think I’ve fallen for you_.

He didn’t answer. She sighed, sipped her sleeping draught, blew out the candle, and fell into silent dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reference of the chapter is from: The Good Place! see if you can find it ;)
> 
> ok the title doesn't have much to do with the actual chapter, but I couldn't resist, it's what I think every time I watch this episode


	3. Morgana Burns A Scare-crow

To be honest, Morgana was thankful to enjoy some guiltless rest without having to worry about neglecting her duties as the King’s ward. She frankly almost didn’t care that the opportunity to sleep away a few days came from a magical beetle. Even if it did crawl _into her ear_ …

When she woke up, it was to a face more hideous than Arthur’s. Half of it was charred and scaled like a lizard, drawing one’s attention rudely to his squinted, beetle-black eyes. His reddish-hued, straw-colored locks didn’t help to ease the image of a scare-crow. She nearly bolted out of her bed at the sight, but her limbs were sacks of grain on the mattress. The stranger smirked at her and left the room.

A few moments later, Uther whirled into the room. “Morgana! This is truly a miracle!”

He kissed her forehead, and she forced herself not to recoil.

“I thought…” He was stammering.

“Oh, you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

He smiled at her tearfully, relief glowing in his wretched face. God, you’re a _king_. Pull yourself together and show some of that pride you’re always ranting to Arthur about.

_So. You… You’re awake._

Her heart rumbled to a stop. Again, she’d forgotten to close her mind. How could she have been so stupid? It was only a matter of time before Merlin found out who he was having mental conversations with, and if his dismayed voice was anything to go by, her coma had revealed to him what his poisoning had to her. Gaius was asking her a question, she was answering halfheartedly. Oh gods. This would make the whole _keep it a secret so we don’t both have our heads chopped off_ strategy a wagonload harder.

_You know who I am._

_And how long have you known who_ I _am?_

_Since you proved your stupidity by drinking that damned poison._

Silence. She cursed — now was not the time for jokes.

_Please. I’m begging you. Tell no one._

She sat back into her pillows in confusion. Why would she tell anyone? This was as much of a threat to her life as it was to his. True, Uther was often blind to her faults — a fact of which she found plenty of amusement in taking advantage — but he was even blinder to reason where magic was involved.

_Of course. This is between us._

_Thank you… Morgana._

She beamed despite herself. She’d always loved the way her name rolled off his tongue, the soft cushion of a peasant’s accent on each syllable, such a sharp contrast to the harsh royal accents of Uther and Arthur. A contrast almost as sharp as his cheek— _Stop it_.

_Of course. Merlin._

***

Morgana always thought before she acted. She’d always make sure that if an idiot were to do something, then she would never do that thing. So it was consequently rather surprising to even herself when she found herself doing exactly what Merlin would do.

She had been on the way to her chambers when she heard voices leaking out into the corridor from a chamber. She pushed open one of the oak doors to find Edwin cornering Merlin — or was it the other way around? — against the fireplace. They were in heated discussion, something about intentionally estranging Gaius from the court, and Merlin was shrinking more and more into his scrawny shoulders by the second. He seemed to have started the argument, but Edwin was clearly gaining the upper hand. Having indefinitely a soft spot for the weaker man — and, incidentally, for Merlin — Morgana had to step in.

“Merlin, is everything alright?”

Merlin glanced at her and his angered cheeks paled. “Erm, of course, my lady.”

_Oh, to hell with the formalities._

_Sorry. We must keep up appearances in front of others, though._

She rolled her eyes. “What is the problem?”

“If you’ll excuse me, milady,” Edwin drawled, his eyes fixated upon Merlin’s face. “I need Merlin’s _undivided attention_.”

“You couldn’t _handle_ his undivided attention,” she retorted.

If his scarred face was any indication, Edwin Muirden was no stranger to burns. He’d simply never been on the receiving end of Morgana’s flaming temper. As his beetle-black eyes flitted between her and Merlin, searching for a weak spot, a knock sounded at the door. Edwin opened the door to find a guard.

“Edwin Muirden, the King wishes to speak with you. He means to personally show you around the physician’s corridor.”

Morgana stifled a scoff. Gaius had hardly left the castle, and Uther was already welcoming the new “physician”? She saw Merlin’s jaw clench and knew he was thinking the same. As Edwin trudged out of the room, the guard eyed the two of them skeptically. The King’s ward and the prince’s manservant left alone in the chambers — it would be scandal of the highest order. She shook her head woefully and headed for the door.

_Thank you._

She stumbled forward, feeling a red-hot vine crawling up her cheeks. His fierce, grateful gaze stung upon her neck.

_Of course._

_And… thank you for not telling anyone._

_Why would I? It would risk my neck as much as it would yours._

A pause. _Your neck?_

She sighed, exasperated. _Yes, Merlin. Talking to someone in one’s head doesn’t exactly scream normal, non-magical being, does it?_

Another long, painful pause. She dared a glimpse over her shoulders and was greeted by a puzzled expression. He really was a bit lacking in the upstairs area. As she watched, the confusion melted into resignation and… disappointment?

_Of course. The telepathy, right._

She shook her head, grinning. Why had she ever doubted his absolute idiocy? She trotted out of the room, her chin high, giggling quietly to herself. Just another day in Camelot for a King’s ward who fancied a servant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reference of the chapter is from: The Office! (actually, there are 2)


	4. Morgana, Merlin And Some Minor Child Abduction

Morgana hadn’t planned on committing any crimes in her dignified life as the King’s ward, but here she was with a Druid boy behind the screen and a perplexed manservant — one she happened to be kick-in-the-crotch, spit-on-the-neck fantastically in love with — staring her down as she confessed her deepest doubts about magic.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.” He quickly turned away. She felt a flush rise in her cheeks as she realized the absence of his gaze left a hollow sense of disappointment.

“Why are you helping him?” she deflected. As if she had to ask. It was _Merlin_. He’d stop _breathing_ to help someone recover from a common cold.

“It was... a spur of the moment decision.” His eyes swiveled to where Gwen stood in the corner, watching them.

_Really?_

_Yes._

She glanced at him. He wouldn’t meet her eye. “So… what do you think we should do with him? He can’t stay here.”

“We have to find a way to get him back to his people.”

***

They were treating the boy’s wound when he ruined both of their lives. She had offered to fetch some water, and as she stood at the table, a foreign voice entered her mind — and, based on his jerky reaction, Merlin’s too.

_Thank you, Emrys_.

Emrys? The old sorcerer from those midwives’ tales that was to “restore magic” to Albion? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Merlin twitch, as though forcing himself not to look back at her. She felt intrusive, listening in on their conversation. Evidently the boy couldn’t control his mind as she and Merlin could, so anyone with telepathy could hear his conversations. Perhaps she could teach...?

_Emrys? Why do you call me that?_

_Among my people, that is your name_.

The water jug clattered on the table. She quickly stilled it and exhaled. It must be a mistake. Emrys wasn’t a cheeky manservant with a tendency to introduce his own foot to Arthur's chamber pots.

Their voices were fading. She peered behind the screen — the boy was falling back into unconsciousness. Merlin was muttering, “Speak to me.” Unsure if the boy knew she’d heard their conversation, she decided to act on the ignorant side for now. Merlin would answer some questions later.

“I don’t know if he can’t speak, or he’s just too scared to.”

Their gazes lingered on the boy a moment longer before she sank her claws into Merlin’s arm and half-led, half-dragged him into the opposite corner of her chambers. An unflattering yelp escaped him as they traversed the room. When she let go, he rubbed at his arm dramatically and glared questioningly at her.

She rolled her eyes. _Emrys?_

_Erm... I know just as much as you do._

_I have a feeling that’s not true._

He seemed to visibly shrink, and she almost backed off in regret. No, this time she would push through to the answers, to the _truth_. Merlin had always had a talent for evading confessions (perhaps it had something to do with his disarming smile or jewel-blue eyes), but now, Morgana would use whatever daggers she had at her disposal — namely, her words and her smirk — to draw it out of him. They were so far past secrecy and distrust.

But... why was he shaking? At first, she thought he’d started crying, but when he lifted his chin, no tears streaked his beautiful cheeks. Instead, what she saw in his eyes was... fear?

_What is it, Merlin?_

_I..._ He swallowed. Seeing fierce, unrelenting demands in her eyes, he pursed his full lips, resigned. _Look_...

He brought his palms, fingers clasped together, up to his mouth. He murmured something into them. His ocean-blue eyes flashed fire-gold, a fire that burned through Morgana’s skull with a myriad of emotions that nearly knocked her over. _Magic_. Terror. _Illegal_. Excitement. _Merlin_. Hurt.

When he opened his hands, a blue streak fluttered into Morgana’s hair. A butterfly. Despite herself, she chuckled. Terror and hurt gave way to excitement.

_How long?_

_Forever. I was born like this._

_Why did you never tell me?_

_You’d have screamed your head off. No, you'd have screamed **my** head off. Much like Gaius, in fact._

She giggled again. The butterfly nuzzled itself into the crook of her neck.

_Are you... afraid?_

_Of you?_ She smirked at him. Relief cascaded down from his long lashes and poured from his chin into her hands, where he’d laid his life. She closed her mind and thought, No, Merlin. What I’m afraid of is only—

_I must go. Arthur is expecting me._

She sighed as he scrambled out of the chambers. Had her identity changed things? Was he never going to respond to her confession?

***

After Merlin had sent Arthur and the boy off on their way to the Druids, he came straight to Morgana’s chambers to notify her. She was in a sour mood after a dinner of exchanging sickening pleasantries with Uther. His knock brightened her mood slightly, and when he told her of the good news, she felt her spirits lift infinitesimally. There was a silence as neither of them knew what exactly to say, the burden of secrecy and the relief of safety equally exhausting on both of their shoulders. He opened his mouth, on the cusp of saying “good night”, but she had more she wished to discuss.

“So,” she said, deciding casual banter was the way to go, “you’re a great sorcerer. Why don’t you do something about those ears, then?”

He feigned indignation and reached up to cover those great kitchen plate ears of his. “Excuse me, my lady, but these ears are an exotic luxury few have the power to wield.”

She smirked. “Merlin—“

“I’m sorry, Morgana,” he interrupted. His head dropped dejectedly, bringing her hope and her heart along with it. “Even— even if I weren’t magic, it wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t be safe for us, for _you_ , to continue...”

He trailed off. He looked at her and knew. She understood. She was on the verge of tears and heartbreak. But she understood.

They exchanged a look of devotion. The closest thing to love either of them would ever experience, slipping between their fingers like treacherous waters in an unlawful sea. As he turned to leave, she felt a pang of desperation, a need to call out and tell him to _stay, don’t leave, I love_ — _do you_ — She held back. If Uther’s inevitable sentence after discovering their telepathic relationship wouldn’t kill her, an unrequited love would. It was better not to know.

He stopped in the doorway. He turned around and glided over to where she stood.

His breath was hot on her forehead as she kept her eyes determinedly on his boots.

“Morgana,” he said. His voice was like the delicate layer of sugar on a warm honey bun. “I have to know. Those conversations in our heads, those… _revelations_ … were you speaking to me? Or were you just thinking?”

It took her a moment to register the bizarre question. It wasn’t until she gazed into his ocean-blue eyes, saw his long, fidgeting fingers, took in his slouched, vulnerable figure — it wasn’t until his entire slender form bowed, pleading before her even as he stood inches taller, that she understood what he was truly asking. She felt a stab of joy, almost as painful as it was exhilarating.

_I’ve never felt a connection like this with… anyone_.

He felt the _same_. She took his hands in her own. They weren’t trembling, but when her eyes flickered to his face, his lips, full and warm and red, were.

_I think I’ve fallen for you_.

She smiled. “I was dreaming,” she murmured. Before he could fully figure out what her answer meant, she drew his neck forward and pulled his lips to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reference of the chapter is from one of my favorite shows! (since this is the last chapter, the reference has to be harder ofc, so I won't tell you where it's from ;))


End file.
